


Fitting Together

by samtheboyking



Series: Adventures With IKEA [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samtheboyking/pseuds/samtheboyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buying the table at IKEA may have been a mistake, but at least Dean knows making the move was definitely worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fitting Together

“It won’t fit. I do not understand.”

Dean had never seen Castiel looking so dejected. The other man was seated cross-legged on the floor, metal brackets and wooden pieces strewn about with Cas as the squinty-eyed centerpiece. He was twisting a bracket by hand and angling what looked to be two legs together which even from where Dean was standing at the counter, leaned over an instruction manual, he could tell most definitely were not designed to fit together.

He said as much to Cas and got a sharp flick of blue eyes in response, a steely look that indicated quite clearly it was in Dean’s best interest to keep his opinions to himself.

“Alright then.” Cas dropped the section of the kitchen table he had been making a valiant, albeit useless, effort on. “You can come over and work on this table, and I will pretend to read the instructions.” The pieces fell to the floor with a hallow clatter and Cas gave what was supposed to be step four part B a look of malice that Dean never wanted directed his way.

Still, Dean couldn’t help himself, mouth moving with a mind of its own as it was apt to do. “You aren’t even working with the correct parts.” He stepped closer to survey the mess of pieces lying around, orbiting like meteoroids around Cas. They were likely collide and cause a cosmic explosion Dean judged, if the way Cas was glowering gave any indication.

Cas lifted the pieces he had been working with and studied them, frown set deep and brow creased. For a moment Dean thought maybe he was going to throw them his way. “I am working with the pieces you dictated to be correct, Dean.” He motioned to the small labeling stickers. “Parts E, G, and F, see? You must be misreading the directions.”

Dean gave an indignant huff and all but pelted the flimsy IKEA manual at Cas, who merely ducked his head, the manual fluttering through the air and landing against the baseboard. The other man's eyes grew darker still, storm clouds eclipsing the usual calm sky blue of his irises. If Dean had not known Cas so well, had he not become accustomed to reading the subtle nuances of his expression, each quirk of his mouth and shift of a brow, he might have missed the change that washed over his features. Dean saw the shift though, a look that told him Castiel was not amused in the least. Dean was fixed with a stare that made him squirm, just slightly.

This only made him more indignant.

“You try understanding the directions!” Dean crossed his arms, ready to stand his ground. There was a lot of shit Cas could blame him for, but he wasn't about to take the fall for this one. “We’re just as likely to construct the Death Star following them.”

This seemed to deter the stare down Cas had been building up to, head cocked to the right in an unconscious gesture of confusion, and damn him for making Dean forget, momentarily, that they were supposed to be arguing. When the realization clicked however it was easy to remember. 

“Wait, stop.” Dean approached Cas where he had moved to kneel next to the fallen manual, smoothing the pages gently as if some tender loving care was all it needed to reveal the secrets of constructing their table.

“There are only thirteen steps...” Cas was muttering as he flipped through.

“Wait,” Dean said again and grabbed the manual from his hands, kneeling down to eye level next to Cas. “You’ve never seen Star Wars? How did I ever agree to move in with you?”

The impassive look on Cas’ face gave away none of the irritation Dean had learned to sense over the years, rising from the depths of his eyes, though his voice remained cool when he replied, “I believe you breached the subject of a shared living situation after Sam walked in early to your house one day from work and found that we were utilizing the love seat in a rather unconventional manner, despite my arguments on the implications of the word love seat.”

“We agreed to not talk about that!” Dean felt his face heat up. It's not that he had ever been ashamed of his sexual endeavors, but it was one thing to tease Sammy and another to be caught in a more than compromising position, on their shared furniture, no less.

Cas gave an indifferent shrug and settled against the wall. “If you find my science fiction film repertoire lacking I can go back to living with Gabriel.”

A silence settled around them, a moment of studying each other, passing in increasing tension. Dean did not flinch under the scrutiny of Cas’ gaze, but there was a fleeting moment where their entire relationship flashed before his eyes. Cas must have noticed something because Dean was brought back to reality by a hand taking his own, long fingers stroking over his knuckles. The corners of Cas’ lips were turned up, Dean noticed, and whatever doubt and worry had settled within his chest faded easily into the background. Dean grinned back, stupidly large.

“This table is a piece of shit,” Cas muttered, and Dean barked out a laugh. Cas took the manual from his hands and slid it easily across the wood floor, out of sight. Dean tugged Cas closer until he settled at his side, the two of them sitting on their kitchen floor surrounded by the pieces of their failed home furnishing.

“I don’t even know why we decided IKEA was a good idea.” Dean nudged a table leg with his foot.

Cas hummed and leaned in with his shoulder, head coming to rest in the crook of Dean’s neck. When he spoke Dean could feel the rumble of Cas’ voice against his pulse, “It may have been a decision based more upon your insistence of IKEA’s culinary merits where Swedish meatballs are concerned, rather than their constructional abilities of modern home furnishings or competency in technical writing.”

“Their meatball are awesome,” Dean insisted, though his voice remained light. “But yeah, their furniture is shit.”

Cas looked up then with so much warmth shining in his eyes that Dean was slightly taken aback. Cas could have that effect sometimes, the uninhibited manner he adopted around Dean reminding him of how fortunate he had been to not only find Cas, but manage to keep him. Sometimes he's still not sure how he got here.

Still, at times like these, when Dean caught Cas watching him so intently, unflinching, it made him—and Dean would never tell Sam this—somewhat bashful. He ran a hand through his hair and gave a small laugh. “What?”

“I enjoy when we can hate things together, Dean,” Cas stated, matter-of-fact. For that, Dean could not help but lean in and meld their lips together.

“Cas,” he cupped the other’s chin with his hand, “don’t ever change.” He pressed a final kiss to the corner of Cas’ mouth before standing and hauling him up off the floor.

“Not even my narrow study of popular 20th century science fiction sagas?”

Dean wrapped an arm around Cas to rest his hand on his hip. “Oh don’t you worry, we are going to have a long weekend of education on George Lucas’ filmography.”

Cas just nodded, shuffling into the kitchen as Dean followed behind. “You know I don’t care what we do, being with you is what I care about.”

If Dean didn’t know better he would say Cas didn’t understand the significance of those words and how important they were for Dean to hear. But Cas did know, without Dean having to say a thing, and it was this thought that made Dean arrive at the realization that living with Cas was going to work out just fine.

Later that night they sat opposite to each other on the love seat; the one Sam had all but thrown at them when Dean moved out, with some comment pertaining to the traumatizing history associated with the upholstery. Dean looked around their near barren living room, surveying the remnants of the table they had not bothered to pick up.

“We should return the table tomorrow.”

Cas shifted his concentration from the book in his hands, eyes peering up over the top of the pages. “You just want more Swedish meatballs.” It wasn’t a question and Dean did not even try to deny it. Cas always did have the ability to see right through him.

“Of course.” Dean moved forward now to the end where Cas had his knees drawn up, pushed his legs down slowly and climbed over to straddle him. His knees rested against Cas’ hips. “But I also don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night and find you out here fiddling with the damn thing. Failure is not something you let go lightly, I know, and you are too determined for your own good. That sorry excuse for a table is a lost cause though, so the sooner it gets returned the better.”

Cas merely rolled his eyes and set his book face down on the floor, hands coming to rest at Dean’s hips. “You just want more Swedish meatballs,” he reiterated flatly. But when a small smile broke upon Cas’ expression Dean took it as a victory.

“We can just eat on the floor for awhile until we find another table,” Dean went on, squirming closer when Cas ran his hands down his back.

“Hmm,” Cas agreed and burrowed into Dean’s neck, mouth marking a wet trail from his shoulder and up to the shell of his ear. “I would like to find another table soon, though I have slightly more creative purposes in mind other than eating to use it for.”

“Oh?” Dean’s voice sounded more breathless than he meant it to, but he couldn’t be bothered to care when Cas was arching closer, pressing for more.

“Yes,” said Cas, voice still steady in a way that had Dean marginally embarrassed at his own absence of composure. “Primarily I would like to bend you over the surface, though this one was of optimum height for the best angle.”

“Christ!” Dean gasped out and leaned back to wonder at Cas’ blunt honesty. Cas however was eyeing the table pieces at the far end of the room with a look of actual regret over the fact that they could not make the arrangement between them work. He looked to be sincerely sorry for that. Cas then turned back to Dean with the utmost seriousness, hands trailing up and down his sides calmly. “Sam’s kitchen table is, as I recall, of a decent height.”

Dean’s eyes widened still. Despite all of Cas’ outward reserve Dean found out through the years he could be a devious son of a bitch when he felt up to it. And oh, how Dean loved it when he felt up to it.

“Well, I think a visit to Sammy might be in order.” Dean shook his head and laughed before pulling Cas in, kissing him fully and smiling into his lips. “You keep thinking like that," Dean muttered between breaths, "and we won’t ever need to go furniture shopping again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and criticism appreciated.


End file.
